


Out of the mouths of little shadowhunters

by DestielsDestiny



Series: How Magnus Bane Found a Family [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Gen, Hurt Magnus Bane, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magnus Bane and Max Lightwood First Meet, POV Magnus Bane, Protective Magnus, Season/Series 02, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielsDestiny/pseuds/DestielsDestiny
Summary: Max Lightwood has eyes way, way too old for a nine year old. Magnus Bane decides to care.





	

Magnus knelt on the command center floor, pulses of warding magic vibrating jarringly against his shins. He covered a wince, fighting to concentrate on the pleading eyes before him. Eyes so young and innocent should never look that sad, that afraid.

Magnus has never met the youngest Lightwood sibling before, barely heard mention of him in fact, besides the occasional loving, bright comment from Alec or Izzy. Or Jace, he thinks belatedly, mentally wincing at his own tendency to purposefully tune out every time the blonde Nephilim started talking in his presence. If he hadn’t, this might be significantly easier.

“Where’s Jace?” Children have a strange way of breaking your heart, even ones you’ve never met before, even ones you’ve only heard bits and pieces about when you weren’t really paying attention anyway.

Magnus feels his jaw clench as the voices behind them raise. Max is short enough that he barely reaches Magnus’ shoulder, even when the warlock is kneeling down, the lack of height affording them both an illusionary degree of privacy, of anonymity. If should be Alec speaking to Max, Magnus thinks, should be Izzy reassuring her little brother.

Unfortunately, Victor Aldertree, Maryse, and the darling Clave had other ideas. Magnus curls his fingers purposefully around the soft grey folds of the hoodie he still carries, a testament to how quickly things had fallen apart after their return, after Jace Wayland went from the most annoying person Magnus knows to the latest reason he had to rethink everything he’s ever thought about Shadowhunters.

The voices raise in pitch even more, the small boy standing squarely in Magnus’ view, quiet and patient in a way that reminds him oddly of Alec, despite the boy’s colouring ironically matching his adopted brother more than any of his blood relatives that Magnus has encountered so far, and Magnus ruefully changes that to some Shadowhunters.

“Magnus?” Apparently, even strangely wise nine year olds are still nine year olds in some ways, and where did the child even learn his name?

The hoodie feels oddly cool in his hands, the fabric strangely fragile. A flash of blond hair and agonized blue eyes flit across his irises, the hurt, the desperation, the taste of holy water on a once peaceful afternoon. Magnus feels bile rise in his throat.

Footsteps ring out, the voices begin to lower in volume. The eyes before him start to wash over with resignation, too old, too old for nine years old.

“Maxwell.” That was the boy’s name, Magnus is almost sure of it. “We’ll find Jace, we’ll get him back. I promise.” Blue eyes, so familiar, yet so different, so young, for a moment as innocent and trusting as they always should be at nine years old. As no one else in this twisted mess of a family Magnus appears to be falling in with ever got to be.

And suddenly he’ll we more damned that he already is according to the Clave if he lets those things happen to this little boy before him, to Alexander’s little brother.

The air brushes behind Magnus’ back, the telltale soft brush of air indicating the person who should be handling this is finally free to bet the big brother he is so good at being.

Max’s young voice pipes up just as Magnus begins to stand. “And then we can all be a family right? When we find Jace. We’ll be a family then, right?” And the boy is looking up at Magnus, but he must be really looking at his brother over Magnus’ shoulder, and this isn’t Magnus’ question to answer, but somehow he can’t help it, his fingers somehow still clutching the hoodie, so soft, so fragile.

“Yes.” He finds himself kneeling once more, his hands carefully draping the fabric around Max’s trembling frame. “Yes Maxwell, then we’ll all be a family. I promise.”

It’s a ridiculous thing to say to a boy he has just met, to mean about a nephilim he hasn’t even gone on a first date with yet, to think about two girls with enough baggage to sink the Titanic, to even entertain about a teenager he doesn’t even like.

A tentative hand settling on his shoulder. A beautific smile, make up still perfect, tears held back, elegance and poise in every movement. A desperate plea, a mess of red hair, a sketch pad left on his coffee table years ago. An anguished glance thrown over a shoulder, a bruising grip on a boy’s shoulder, a portal to hell, a resignation old enough to make even a four hundred year old heart start to care. A little boy with eyes way too old for a nine year old, asking him to save his family.

Lydia Bramwell was uncomfortably accurate when she said he was a man who thinks that injustice against his friends was unacceptable.

But even that is nothing compared to what happens to those who think to threaten his family, to hurt the people he cares about.

Magnus feels his eye glamour fall for the first time of its own volition, sees Max’s eyes widen in response.

Valentine and the Clave haven’t seen anything yet.


End file.
